South Downs Way - Learning the Landscape

 I feel like I know a place better if I try to paint it, so when we go on holiday, I carry a small box of Winsor and Newton watercolour paints and a post-card sized sketch pad.  I'm definitely better at trees and sea and clouds than at buildings, but that's okay because that's what we usually seek out when we go on holiday.  On the South Downs Way, I liked the way that prehistory manifested itself in the landscape and you can spot Bronze Age round barrows (AKA tumuli) in some of my pictures.  I also liked the way the chalk path drew a line on the landscape.  It turned out though, that walking for many miles along a ridge, the main star was the sky, surrounding us with its changing moods.

Show Your Scars

At Girton College, Cambridge there is a unique permanent exhibition called People’s Portraits.  The artists are members of the hallowed Royal Society of Portrait Painters, but the sitters who are the subjects of the paintings are ‘ordinary people’ insofar as anybody may be said to be ordinary.

A couple of weeks ago, I went with Nigel and my old friend, artist Mary Fraser @artbymarybee, to see the unveiling of the portrait of Sylvia Mac, founder of the organisation Love_Disfigure.

Having suffered severe childhood burns to her back and received a number of painful skin grafts, she grew into adulthood self-conscious of her scarring.  However, as a mature woman, she decided she could no longer live a life of concealment and began defiantly to display her body, scars and all, on social media.  She has opened up a conversation, changed hearts and minds and lent confidence to others with similar body-issues.

In this bold portrait, Alastair Adams, the artist, had worked closely with Sylvia to convey the image by which she is known – a woman who has defied her scars to become a proud and capable person. 

It has to be said, Sylvia is not only an artist’s model, but also a role model and very far from being ‘an ordinary person’.

A total white-wash!

Dawn and Steve, it is your fault that we ran out of excuses. 

It was going to be impossible for us to paint the bedrooms at the weekend because we were meeting up with you.

We were saying things like “We would love to paint the upstairs but unfortunately we can’t – we are meeting Dawn and Steve.”  And then we had to try not to look smug.

But then you baled on us.  And ever since, our life has been dominated by the ominous rumble of paint rollers on walls and the stink of white spirit. 

For the last week, our home has been a man-trap of vicious exposed carpet gripper and tacky white gloss.

After an hour or so undercoating skirting, I decided to WhatsApp Pascoe.  He was probably as bored as I was, writing up an academic paper.  But no, he and his pals, Caroline and Ian, had just completed the Yorkshire Three Peaks Challenge on unicycles.  Not only that, but they had then discovered a bluebell wood and a magical cave from which ran a spring.

The following morning, I texted Carenza – “Thought you might enjoy a chat while you trudge to work.”

“Not trudging today, Mum.  I’m on holiday in Seville with my girlfriends.”

So, Dawn and Steve, we are the only ones having a bad time.  And it is all your fault.

Cutting in

We are lucky enough to have a tiny en suite.  But for nearly four years, I have been wilfully ignoring the fact that the shower leaks.

Finally a nice plumber has fixed the problem.  And now the en suite needs redecorating.

Not only that, but we had dragged our clothing and bedding into Carenza’s old room and covered our bedroom furniture with dust sheets, meaning it made sense to go on and decorate the whole bedroom.

Decorating was something we used to do together – “Me Ceiling, you Walls.  You Roller, me Cutting In.”

My back isn’t good for ceiling any more.  As the substantially shorter partner, I’m not sure why I was doing it anyway. 

At least I could still do the cutting in.  I used to be the Queen of Cutting In, making straight lines without the need for masking tape.

But something has changed.  My wobbly brush strokes trespassed on skirting boards and plug sockets.

Is it some refraction or parallax caused by my varifocals?  Perhaps it is the lumpy brush I am using? 

It can’t possibly be, can it, simply that I have become impatient and grumpy in my old age?

Nope.  Think I shall blame the fact that we are cutting right down on alcohol for Lent.  I must have been distracted by the fact that the white spirit was actually beginning to smell delicious.